


Standing in the hall of fame

by KaneNogami



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Susan is a Squib and she will kick your ass until she can get an education at Hogwarts, oc teacher and two squibs!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaneNogami/pseuds/KaneNogami
Summary: “It's not that Squibs are not welcome—”Edmund snorts.“They are not fit for the magical world, and we want no harm to come to them. We suggest Miss Pevensie to pursue her life as a Muggle, for her own safety.”“Are you threatening me?”Susan watches them turn pale at once, sipping her tea with a polite smile. They have no idea of what they set in motion, how unfortunate.





	1. Peter

 

     Children with hearts of gold, once rulers, blessed by the Lion and his Light. In retrospect, their destiny should have been linear, traced in their palms as they held bows and swords, marching to a war without an ending. Instead, they betrayed their guide, at once. Together, forming a unit made of broken pieces, glued together by the memory of having been, once upon a time, a family more than deities meant to be worshiped.

 

The First letter arrives on a Tuesday. The weather could be better, heavy clouds dissuading them to leave the flat. Some would say it's a miracle they got such place (barely big enough for three, certainly not enough for four) without support. They rely on each other (sometimes), mostly at nights. They take out board games, facing siblings as if they were playing a game or life and death. With more tea and hot chocolate, and a couple of biscuits. Store-bought, usually. The supermarket is a tougher opponent than most, blinding lights and colorful packaging lurking them into the abyss.

 

“I wonder,” Susan whispers, letter in one hand, mug in the other, “what fate wants to do with our dear Peter this time around.”

 

Dear, they use the term to convey a myriad of emotions. The strength of bonds, or royalty. Or the disdain of affection turned odd and ancient. What's a new start, when you are slowly losing everything you had? Ah, there is disgust towards Aslan's punishment.

 

_You do not take away memories! Bloody hell, you do not send children back into another time—and you are definitely not allowed—no one is—to let them read everyone they ever loved died tragically in a train accident everyone has long forgotten about._

 

“Nothing I fancy to read about, Su',” he still takes the letter, opening it with a pocket knife he shouldn't carry around. Assassinations were too common at some point. A shame it's starting to be fuzzy to remember when and how.

 

As Peter starts to unfolds the paper, the remaining members of the household are attracted by the sudden silence. One after another, they gravitate around the shitty couch covered in stains which won't go away.

 

Susan is disappointed that's not blood.

At least, she knows how to remove such thing.

 

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, mug steadily held in both hands, she awaits for an explanation. Oh, it couldn't be bills to pay. They have done too much around, no matter how young they are. Neighbors lower their heads as they walk by, having vowed silence to protect the four orphans who live in the building. The ones who are so mature, carrying groceries with the same ease as they stop fights, stepping between fools without ever lowering their gaze. They are special, people whisper. And it's enough for them to accept they do not seek help at all. Adults play the parents when they pay them, avoiding social workers or anyone who could recognize them as more than ethereal guardians.

 

Too special, perhaps.

On the verge of being _magical_.

 

Peter is thirteen and Edmund climbs on the back of the couch, almost kicking him in the shoulder, Lucy clapping her hands in joy by his side. Susan sighs at the news, her eyes having already skimmed through most of the letter.

 

“They are apologizing before even saying why they are doing first, how bold,” his younger brother mocks.

 

“Let me read, I am not as fast as you guys are,” Peter remind his siblings, gaze struggling to accept some of the words. He has little affection towards people writing with ink on parchment, finding the calligraphy hideous at best and non-readable at worst.

 

Hogwarts, he finally understands. That might explains some things, such as the residues of magic clinging to them since they returned. Or landed there. It's hard to tell. Sometimes, he feels at a loss around emails and supermarkets. At least people gained some basic human rights they should have from the start, he guesses. Peter wouldn't claim to be nostalgic of his era. He misses parents and classmates, playing in the garden and bickering with the others. The war and everything else? Not so much.

 

As he turns the letter around, catching a glimpse of the remaining lines, Peter wants to burn it to ashes. That would be more convenient, honestly.

 

“They apparently missed my existence.”

 

“Brilliant, I envy them. We were not given the same chance.”

 

“Edmund, kindly shut up and let our dear brother proceeds this.”

 

“As you wish, Su'.”

 

There must have been a mistake, the paper states, as new students are supposed to get their letter of acceptance at eleven. Peter is aware they only arrived in this time six months ago, therefore, it's no surprise they did not exist before. He is more surprised some magical school heard about their existence. The idea of fighting—wizards?--sounds tedious for a Tuesday.

 

“I have enough with one witch around,” he mutters, not wishing to follow the same path. Ice cold fingers press against the back of his neck, as a warning. One which makes him elbow Edmund in—whatever part he manages to reach. “Ed', no offense, but I'm not certain they are talking about your kind of magic.”

 

“I would love to ask my _Mother,_ if we had not gotten rid of her, twice.”

 

The clear (terrifying) separation between him and them is always a difficult topic. One which is easily avoided as Lucy comments about wizards coming to visit them since they are children of non-magical parents.

 

Before their beloved brother can whine about not feeling included in this, Peter is quick to scan the room. They have to clean if they welcome guests. And buy more biscuits probably. Neighbors didn't appreciate them trying to catch pigeons with a bow and arrows last month, therefore they should buy a chicken or something. How does one host a dinner party for wizards? As the high king, Peter has never—oh he might have been in such situation before. A shame he forgot about it already.

 

“Hm,” Susan pries the letter off his hands, a frown forming on her face, “if this letter is more than a prank, what I wholeheartedly believe in, this is too elaborate, where is mine? I turned twelve one month earlier.”

 

Silence befalls them at once, no one having the answer.

 

“We can ask them when they come for Peter.”

 

Lucy makes the meeting sounds like some sort of threat, a peace treaty meant to go wrong.

Finally something they can agree on.

 

 

     It turns out, Squibs are not invited to Hogwarts. Susan regrets not adding poison to the tea. Her collection is meager, that's true, although she is slowly building it with care. Oh, sometimes the best way to avoid being assassinated by your rival is to take care of the problem yourself. She watches these strangers in their long robes sitting on their couch with little care. They have no parents to play pretend today, which is fine as their cover story is that their grandmother is raising them. She's busy however, away at her cooking class for the elderly. No one questions why four children are not at school, leading her to believe wizards have no concept of what life is meant to be like for a Muggle Or whatever they call people who are not like them.

 

Lucy is the one asking questions, bubbly voice hiding a sharp intellect and a habit of pretending to be an innocent child. By all means, she is kind, their sister, heart filled with joy and a curiosity difficult to match. Innocent though? Not in the slightest. Once, they reached adulthood. And then everything was stripped away from them. Not very convenient, to say the least.

 

“Susan has magic in her blood, right? So what is stopping her from joining?” Lucy has this talent at making people squirm when they do not offer what she wants to hear. Her smile is almost too perfect while she is sitting between the wizards, holding her mug of hot chocolate with care. Little marshmallows are slowly drowning one after another, and she couldn't care less.

 

“I was also wondering why your curriculum is so averse to me,” she adds. For what she understands, there is gardening and potions, things she shouldn't struggle with more than anyone else.

 

They pursue their lips together, uninvited guests who thought this would be easy. They are sitting close to four monarchs, they should have planned this better. Not that she can blame them for not knowing. Susan has no intention to reveal who she is (or was). She's the one whose memories go away the fastest, leaving blanks she fills with whatever she finds. Who cares about being a queen in a world where they played pretend? She'd rather rules there, over something real.

 

“It's not that Squibs are not welcome—”

 

Edmund snorts.

 

“They are not fit for the magical world, and we want no harm to come to them. We suggest Miss Pevensie to pursue her life as a Muggle, for her own safety.”

 

“Are you threatening me?”

 

Susan watches them turn pale at once, sipping her tea with a polite smile. They have no idea of what they set in motion, how unfortunate.

 

 

     Peter goes to Hogwarts. Alone, with the daunting task of researching as much as he can on the judicial system these people use.

 

On his first night, he ends up in the headmistress's office, an old woman who seems already exhausted by his existence. They can certainly agree on that, he muses for himself, sitting in front of her. There is an argument, or rather a conversation he struggles to keep with as the train ride lasted for hours.

 

He isn't fond of trains any longer. Not when they took him to Paradise and then back more than once. Still, he sits straight on his chair, hands folded in his lap as he awaits for an arrangement to be made. At thirteen, one shouldn't expect to win against the school, especially not as ancient as this one. Peter Pevensie isn't exactly an average kid though.

 

“I cannot allow you to roam around the castle without belonging to a house.”

 

“I refuse to be sorted until my sister is allowed to study there.”

 

Two hours later, Peter spends his first night at the infirmary, in a bed separated from the others by only an ugly white curtain.

That's the only place where she accepted to put him for now, certain he'll change his mind before the end of the first week.

 

 

      “Pevensie, what are we doing to do with you?”

 

_Wait until you meet my siblings before saying that_ , he wants to suggest. He is always in the library, colorless uniform catching the attention of kids who whisper behind his back. He gets into a fight on the second week, grabbing a rusty sword off an armor as the student takes out his wand. There is a silence, a moment where the other doesn't get it (which kind of wizard doesn't raise their wand at the first threat). In a swift move, Peter disarms his classmates before putting the sword back, mumbling about boys not having any fighting skills.

 

Oddly, he doesn't get send to the headmistress's office for that. As dueling on school grounds without permission is apparently forbidden, therefore the bully doesn't dare to complain.

 

Later, as he is skimming through endless books whose lines are dancing in front of his eyes, letters treacherous, Peter hears the librarian lamenting over his attitude. Not studying for his classes, nor using his wand when he needs to. He'd rather carry matches to light candles rather than casting a simple spell, much to his teacher's chagrin.

 

“Children like you, whose parents aren't magical, struggle to adapt sometimes,” she tells him once the library is closed and he is packing to return to the infirmary.

 

“I'm not struggling, it's you who don't get it,” he replies, voice low so she cannot hear. He promises to be there tomorrow, although he isn't certain of finding a solution for Susan as fast as they planned.

 

 

    Oldest in this year, Peter avoids problems by vanishing when he is not needed. Two months after joining the school, he already has a reputation. His magical abilities have increased as he started to care about his studies. Unlike what his teachers mumbled about him at first, he is quite diligent. Always ahead, fascinated by history. A shame he has to offer so many unwanted lines in his papers. Better approaches to wars, bitter comments about never avoiding casualties and rulers pretending otherwise being morons. His wand is long and precise, although rarely seen outside of class. He practices theory instead, sometimes putting headphones over his ears although no sound will come out at Hogwarts.

 

“I don't like noise, or rather to be drowned in it. Especially when I'm trying to read,” he explains to a teacher one evening, after being called out for wearing them in class.

 

Getting detention for being insolent is insulting, although he doesn't complain.

He awaits his weekly meeting with the headmistress for that.

 

 

McGonadall is not fond of him, he supposes. Or he is slowly worming his way into her heart as new problematic student. Peter isn't certain.

 

“May I inquire why you insist on complicating your own existence?”

 

“You may. Although I doubt you'll appreciate the answer.”

 

Aslan is faint by now, a dream of a dream, tucked in a corner of his mind covered in fog. He is merely the orphan, the one with three younger siblings raised without support. Magic must allow the headmistress to know that. After all, meddling, for what he read in history textbooks, is common place between wizards. As long as she doesn't mention it, neither will he.

 

“You have this arrogance to you, Pevensie, and still no house. I thought you would relent by being isolated and yet it's merely as if your classmates exist at all in your world.”

 

“Next year, if Susan joins, I'll go in the house I'm meant to belong to.”

 

The conversation ends in another detention.

For once though, it's in the library. Something about sorting political books in the right order.

 

Peter thanks her, palm pressed against his heart.

 

 

     The young king once sat at the most fantastic banquets, lacing his tongue with praise and stories to win his enemies over. He barely recalls these moments, although it was certainly less oppressive than eating alone in the infirmary. The nurse is sympathetic to his presence, especially as he serves as an assistant in the evening, cleaning shelves to show he is grateful to have a place to be. He is certain she pities his spirit, the way he refuses to be tamed by the school.

 

One evening, he steps outside of his kingdom to enter the Great Hall. Whispers start at once, as he sits at the closest table. Green and mighty, these ones. Rejected too, stigmas of war they didn't participate in weighting heavily on their shoulders. He is aware of their piercing gazes, how they want him to be gone right away.

 

“Is there something on my face,” he asks, ignoring the way a girl's face becomes so red with fury she might choke on air, “I've been wondering about something I've read regarding a law, do you happen to have a lawyer in your family?”

 

Opening the book he was carrying on the table, he lets them glance at the page, serving himself with mashed potatoes to the point he might regret it later. He has time though, pressing his fork against his lips more than once before a girl with dark skin and sharp eyes gestures for the boy by his side to move.

 

“Jones, fourth year. My parents are both working for the ministry of magic. I've been more familiar with politics and laws than toys since the tender age of five.” Her voice is acidic, meaning she'll want to be paid for his work, which Peter finds fair.

 

“Then I humbly request your services.”

 

 

      Before December, Peter has send one hundred letters to the ministry, and various groups working on the acceptance of Squibs.

 

It doesn't work.

So he breaks quills by pressing them too hard against parchment, wondering what would be the point in returning the following year if he loses.

 

Susan has nothing to be punished for, not in this life or the previous ones.

Aslan can go fuck himself, for all he cares.

 

Immediately after having this though, Peter covers his face with his hands, inhaling sharply. Nothing makes sense, he loathes being on his own without his siblings. He dreads the days until Winter break, climbing first abroad the train and blasting his music in his headphones as soon as they are away from this damned school.

 

 

     Lucy jumps forward, awaiting on the platform alongside the others. He wraps his arms around his beloved little sister, squeezing until she starts to complain. By Aslan, he missed them so much, it's unbearable.

 

Once they are back in their tiny flat, he almost starts tearing up at the new curtains they added in the kitchen. Obtaining this place was—too easy. Even with their skills as ex-monarchs, he is certain the universe found a way to assist them. They are too young, free of scars and blemishes which once covered their bodies. Sometimes, he is afraid of breaking when he casts a spell with too much strength, energy making his arm vibrate.

 

“I have made little progress,” he confesses as Edmund keeps on glancing at their chess board without daring to ask for a game yet. That's more convenient as he is exhausted. Might explain why he presses his head against the crook of Susan's neck, refusing to move for ten minutes.

 

“We have struggled on our side too. People laugh at us, mostly,” from the corner of his eyes, Peter is fairly certain there is _his_ pocket knife between Lucy's fingers, and that she is playing with it. Oh well—

 

Survival, _or something._

 

“Let's try harder, tomorrow.”

 

Curling his legs on the couch, Peter needs to rest for a while. Or maybe a couple of days.

Oh no, he has homework.

 

 

     On a Tuesday, _again,_ McGonadall visits, interrupting what was certainly an intense board game involving chores and Edmund teasing them relentlessly.

 

The fact she appears in the middle of the living-room without a warning is enough for Lucy to drop her cards all over the board while Peter curses. Not his most appropriate choice, although he doesn't have points to lose for his house.

 

(He suspects that, once he gets sorted, he is going to make one quite unhappy with months of misbehavior.)

 

“I'm going to prepare some tea, please sit down on the couch,” Susan gestures for the youngest kids to put the game away where Peter stands there, uneasy by the fact she might be there to expel him. On a hand it would be a relief, on the other, he'd rather not deal with Susan's wrath.

 

Twelve minutes later, as she takes into account her surroundings, with mild disgust towards the beloved couch, the headmistress decides to engage the discussion. Peter has never noticed before, but she is quite tall in comparison to them. Or perhaps it's merely a feeling caused by how elegant she is.

 

There is grace in her, in the same way Edmund can move without ever being heard, or Susan sips poison in people's drinks with kindness on her lips.

 

“While it wasn't in England, I found a precedent in regard to Squib acceptance.”

 

“Oh that's fantastic,” Lucy's eyes are gleaming with joy. And he hopes it won't be crushed by hearing the student got murdered after a while.

 

“The case has differences, as the person is a Seer. Therefore their magic still appears in this form. Albeit they cannot cast any spell or have a wand obey them.”

 

“And they were allowed to be a student?”

 

“Yes, their mother is a prominent member of the Seer community in their country, which allowed her to push their government until she got what she wanted.”

 

“A shame we do not have such power.”

 

“Pevensie, I find admirable your pursuit to your goal, even if I am disappointed of how stubborn you are regarding to it,” McGonadall's lips form a thin line as she continues, “have you told your siblings you refused to be sorted in a house and thus sleep in the infirmary.”

 

“Peter!” Three voices berate him at once, making the teenager wince.

 

“That's a meager sacrifice to get your case to be brought to light, Susan.”

 

“I do remember asking you to research their justice system, not turning yourself into a martyr for my sake.”

 

While they frown at each other, Lucy trying to distract them with tea, Edmund seizes the opportunity to intervene.

 

“Would it be possible to have an audience with whoever is in charge in your court? I'd like to invite the person you mentioned too.”

 

“By court, I assume you mean ministry?”

 

“Oh yes, I suppose.”

 

Edmund's grin is too sharp at once.

Who cares about such detail?

 

 

     Azel Tsukuda offered a formidable speech, for what Edmund writes in his letter, inquiring out loud why Japan managed to integrate Squibs in their curriculum while Hogwarts insists on refusing children a chance to have a proper education. There were many questions regarding budget and planning, apparently. Most of them leading the people in charge of the school system to admit this would take a couple of years to change things.

 

His younger brother had a fantastic time, still as fascinated by politics and history as he already was as a ruler. By that point, Peter isn't even convinced it happened, it's merely a feeling. And one day, like Susan, they will believe Narnia to be a game. Ah, he doesn't mind as much as he would have months prior. Back in school, and in the headmistress' office where he might end up living at this point, Peter crosses his fingers behind his back.

 

“That was successful, wasn't it?”

 

“Your brother was a formidable ally to your cause, asking appropriate questions with an impressive timing. To think he is only ten… And your sisters offered an excellent input to. Especially Susan, who made a poignant speech. I take it runs in the family? This ability to run for miracles and your blunt belief that you are always right.”

 

“Indeed,” Peter can't help the smile which appears on his lips. Sure, they are arrogant, and sometimes they pay a price for it. It's often worth it though.

 

“In five years, if the following discussions go well, we might get our first Squib students at Hogwarts. However, this is a long and arduous path.”

 

Five years is too long, he wants to interrupt, not that he gets the time to do so.

 

“That's why, I have decided to start an experimental course for Squibs starting next year. This course will have only three students, sorted like any other and following a slightly different schedule.” As Peter proceeds what it means, she offers him a rare smile. “Your sister will receive an owl tomorrow, as she has been selected in priority.”

 

It's March.

In a couple of months, Susan will enter Hogwarts.

 

 

     A little bit late, Peter gets to sit under the Sorting Hat, curious students holding their breaths as they watch the show. He is aware they made bets on him, and quite high  ones for some. For what he hears from Jones, Slytherin is the most envisioned choice for him. He doesn't mind so much where he ends, as he is has taken on the habit to sit at either table depending on his mood.

 

_Hogwarts never had a student quite like you, Peter._

 

“Oh, I guess I'm a handful.”

 

_You are, boy! I wonder where you'll be the most at ease._

 

“I'll make a home out of what you have to offer. My sister is joining next year—there are four of us, you know.”

 

The silence above him might be a sign that the Sorting Hat is trying to plan its retirement to avoid meeting his siblings. Which would be understandable. Finally, after what feels like an eternity (probably twenty seconds) he hears its answer.

 

“Hufflepuff!”

 

 

That night, Peter gets the slumber party of his life in the common room, everyone eager to welcome him. Ah, that's odd, without his siblings he felt at a loss for months, and now that he gets homemade cupcakes and a stuffed badger (sewed by a fellow first year), he's quite at home indeed.

 

The next morning, Jones (Nelly to be more precise), calls him her brand new rival in the middle of the hallways, and he deals with this with a wave of the hand and a remark about first years being picked on. That's fun, honestly.

 

 

    Peter Pevensie ends his first year with average grades due to not having been very attentive all the time, and too many detentions. He might not be the king of the school, not that he minds. As soon as he is home for the Summer, he forgets everything to focus on his siblings. Susan bothers him for his textbooks, wanting to learn as much theory as she can, whereas the youngest drag him into chess games or long walks in the park.

 

“There is magic everywhere, even in us,” Lucy muses while she leans against an old tree.

 

“I think it's great. We can build something new in this time.”

 

“Do you think He is watching us?”

 

She clings to what they had, or who they were. So much that Peter doesn't dare to admit he forgot most of it already, like Susan. Edmund remembers perfectly every second with Jadis and the rest if a wasteland, because she imprinted her magic into his bones, although that's another story.

 

“Yeah, I want to believe He is there.”

 

No matter his torn emotions about Aslan, and the betrayal he can still taste on his tongue without remembering it, Peter has the feeling their old guardian remains around. Watching over them with a critical eye when he has nothing else to do.

 

Lucy holds a hand towards the sky, as if she was trying to catch the sun.

 

“I'm mad at Aslan too. It's just—”

 

“I get it, no worry, Lu'.”

 

They're family, after all.


	2. Susan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I type Squid instead of Squib and I only notice way later-

     First days can shape the whole year. Which explains why Susan has brushed her hair right before leaving for the station. She wants to be so impressive no one will ever forget her behind. Isn't it odd, to have such thought at thirteen? She isn't certain. It's her first year, out of seven, and she feel like there is a lifetime of school behind her already. This time around, there was no choice but to genuinely request the assistance of the elderly neighbor to keep an eye on their young siblings. No matter what they went through (she isn't certain anymore, it feels heavy, an oppressive weight against her ribcage), there is a limit and they are still so young. Since Edmund is a Winter child, he will only reach the right age in December. So no Hogwarts for him this time around. He is certainly upset over this. He is their witch more than she is, carrying Jadis' legacy within him. That's not a problem, he tells her, he has long accepted this.

 

Lucy is a lot less at ease with having to wait, as being the sole soul left in the nest isn't something she is looking forward to. Susan can understand, promising to write and pressing kisses against her forehead. She is stern too, ensuring the rules won't be forgotten. No one must pay attention to them too much, or else destiny might forget its new found kindness.

 

It's easy to find the other children, the ones like her. One is standing wide-eyed, clenching her mother's hand so tightly. And the second standing next to a sibling already in uniform, clenching the acceptance letter in his hands. Susan recognizes the seal, blue instead of the usual red. The headmistress told her she would be in charge of this new class, for obvious reasons. After all, there is no fear in Susan's body as she walks forward, offering her hand palm up to the girl and waving to the boy with her free hand.

 

“I'm Susan Pevensie, I'm a Squib.” She has practiced the foreign word, bearing it with pride. And there is a light in their eyes as they drift towards her, starting to talk at the same time. She hushes them with a smile. “Let's find a place abroad, then we can talk.”

 

Peter is nowhere to be found, already with his fellow classmates she supposes. Oh, she cannot complain, she is the one who asked to be left on her own devices to—trust herself she supposes? Once they are comfortably seated together, she lets the younger students introduce themselves. Garfield and Opaline couldn't believe their luck, when their letters were delivered by an official member of the school board. Opaline has no sibling, and her mother, a Muggle-born, thought her daughter was like her for years, until her ex-husband started to ask if she had gotten her letter yet. There was a lot of disappointment, the little girl admits, upon discovering she wasn't special. But she is, in the end. As for Garfield, his parents wanted to send him away in some boarding school, to hide him from the world.

 

Susan finds these stories quite unfortunate. Especially as she'd like to warn them not to be so honest with a stranger.

 

That's fine, in the end. She will not betray either of them, as they are in her care now. A part of her already ache for Edmund and Lucy. At least, she will be able to see Peter a lot more, and keep an eye on him. She took on countless on little jobs, baby-sitting, proofreading documents for her neighbors, so they would have enough money to finish the year. And she isn't certain of how the youngest are going to manage over the next months. Oh, their flat is basically—they aren't paying much for it, as it's mostly illegal to live in the building in the first place. Or rather, it should have been demolished years ago.

 

As the train ride goes on, Susan shares her knowledge of the school from what her brother told him (she is horrified that Garfield wasn't allowed to read about Hogwarts or told anything about it). There are countless details, from ghosts to houses. Oh, that's hilarious, to narrate what Peter did for her—for them. There is admiration in their gaze as she explains how she had to talk in front all these officials which disrespected her.

 

A true queen never bows, unless that's part of her plan.

 

 

    “Hello there, students.”

 

She takes a moment to recognize the figure standing in the door frame. Tall and youthful, long hair falling against their back as they step inside. The eye patch is surely eccentric, although she knows why they wear it. As her new classmates appear to be stuck between curiosity and fright, she is quick to move so they can sit by her side.

 

“Mister Tsukuda, it's a pleasure to see you again.”

 

It's easy to connect the dots. If they are here, it means it's related to the new experimental program they are part of. Ah, she used mister—Azel seems to reply poorly to gendered terms, she noticed during her first meeting with the odd adult. Or to ignore them all together, which is what they opt to do this time around. For someone over thirty, and who has been fighting for Squib rights since their teenage years, they seem full of joy. She envies them a little, as facing a court was already an excruciating experience for her. Not the worst she had gone through in regard to politics. Although she isn't usually the target of interrogations.

 

“Guess who got appointed as the headteacher of the Squib class?”

 

“Congratulations. I thought you—divination?”

 

“That's my usual job, true. Although being a Seer doesn't make me less of a Squib and vice-versa.”

 

“You're a Seer _and_ a Squib?”

 

Here they go! Her classmates are so eager to learn more, and Azel laughs, obviously enjoying to have a public. She suspects it has more to do with their pleasure to see people like them being allowed an education. Apparently, from a report they wrote about their school in Japan—this is a constant fight they have carried on their own by using the family fame.

 

They could make an appropriate ruler, under the right circumstances.

 

 

     A part of her is disappointed, when Opaline and Garfield get send to Hufflepuff one after another. Susan has read about the way this school works. Houses mean a lot and absolutely nothing at once. Trapped in stereotypes, struggling to support each other, encouraged in unfair competitions—by the time it's her turn, she waves at Azel, sitting with the teachers, glass of wine in hand as they watch her triumph. Or fall, as she almost trips over her own feet due to stress. And to think she isn't even wearing a coronation outfit this time around!

 

As she sits on the stool, Peter awaiting her demise with an amused expression, she takes a deep breath. There is so much to say and to think about.

 

“Offer me justice, lead me to a kingdom where I will grow and not wither,” she instructs the Sorting Hat, aware she is allowed to weight as much as she wants in the final choice.

 

Too focused, _perhaps_ , she misses the reply, staying there, unmoving, until a brave soul wearing gray and blue gets up, clapping for her awkwardly. Oh, of course, having a Squib around isn't exactly the most joyful occasion. Still, hat removed, she walks towards the table, chin up and a glint of pride in her eyes.

 

_Ravenclaw_ , then.

 

She hears Azel asking if they can try on the hat, as their school doesn't have houses—the headmistress is quick to make them silent with only one glare and they return to their drink with a bored expression. Ah, perhaps they'll borrow it one day, for their class. Who knows, it could be an interesting topic.

 

 

     There is the portrait of a man in their classroom, someone old and exhausted, yet standing proudly in front of the castle, holding a cat in his arms. That's the first thing that Azel (they insist on being called by their first name, although that's a privilege only the Squibs have) put into the room, as they arrived this morning. The three of them stare at it for a moment.

 

“He was the janitor for a long time, _one of us_ , once humiliated in front of the whole school for what he was. And don't worry, he isn't dead or anything, he is retired and he has five cats. All quite adorable, although—enthusiastic.”

 

It might explain why there is a bandage around one of their arms. Susan supposes it's a lesson well-learned. She wonders if they could do something for the janitor, Argus, such as writing him letters, or something similar. Perhaps he'd rather be left alone, she isn't certain.

 

“Are there a lot of people like us?” Opaline asks and the question is kinda disappointing. Susan knows the answer, more or less, because they used numbers to convince the court months earlier.

 

“Our existence is rarely registered. That makes it easier to get rid of us. No matter the country, Squibs are often shunned, abandoned or whatever tragedy you're willing to imagine.”

 

She can't help it, as her hands grab her skirt, squeezing it harshly. People have been killing them for centuries, without consequences. There is horror in her stomach, spreading so fast she has to stop herself from gagging. It wouldn't be appropriate.

 

“We are the proof we can fight this, right?”

 

“Yeah, we are. Look at me, teaching in a magical school. Look at you,” Azel walks between the desks, patting them lightly on the head, gentle touch until she releases her uniform, “Hogwarts' first Squib students. Oh, I've brought pictures from my old school.”

 

Eagerly, they grab a huge photo album from their bag, slamming it on their desk. “Come here, witness our revolution!” There is a pause as they suddenly sigh. “We are avoiding all the pictures of me as a teen, for obvious reasons.”

 

“Aw, that's the best part!”

 

She agrees with Garfield on that one. Her legs struggle to obey as she rises. There is something horrendous about what is certainly still happening to her kind. And she will stand in front of the enemy with all her might.

 

 

     Potions are truly a delight. That's where she feels herself growing into something magical, when the color is perfectly right, and the professor compliments her. She is aware of the comments meant to be heard, some insulting, some encouraging. Susan is a slower than Peter, taking her time to get everything in the perfect state. Where he is free from the library in term of duty, she often finds him on his way back from the place, books held with an immense affection in his arms. History captivates him as much as mixing and chopping ingredients do to her.

 

There are holes in her schedule, as they are still trying to adjust their classes. Thus, she often sneaks into the potions' room, asking to be taught a little more, or to watch a class she isn't part of. Her love for tea is shared with her teacher, hence her favorite method of bribery; a delicious cup of burning liquid as an offering. She always carries a tumbler around, a magical one Peter offered her over the holidays. As for making tea in the dorm—let's say she has her secrets.

 

She arrives with it and a book she found in the library stating the deadliest poisons. That's mere curiosity, a need to defend herself just in case. While her professor starts with less potent recipes, for obvious reasons she finds reasonable, learning in itself is a fantastic experience.

 

A shame some of her classes are too—magic focused she'd say. Such as Defense against the Dark Arts. There is theory for sure, although it quickly gets overshadowed by the rest. At least Garfield and Opaline have each other, a class they do not share due to their houses. That's why she starts writing her own recipes, trying to figure out which mix would work the best, filling notebooks endlessly.

 

She isn't going to write on parchment when she brought pens and notebooks. Susan has to admit she is quite fond of the colorful gel pens from the supermarket close to the flat. That might explain why she bought an army of them for the school year.

 

 

        Peter has always struggled with pouring his thoughts on paper, although it never seemed apparent as he absorbs whatever he lands his gaze on, devouring knowledge like they all do so well. Only taking more time. Nonetheless, upon finding him with ink all over his fingers and a paper filled with mistakes which feel nonsensical to her, Susan is aware she should step in. It's the quill which is to blame, not helping whatever problem he has. She offers him paper, and her darkest pens, so his eyes won't get tired.

 

“It's fine, Su'.”

 

“I don't think it has ever been,” she admits, sitting by his side in the dim-light library. It's late, and soon they'll be kicked out, “are your eyes tired?”

 

“The usual, I suppose. By Aslan, do not fret too much.”

 

Who else will? She doesn't say that, her mind drifting on the name she is trying to erase from her memory. A majestic lion, with teeth too sharp to her liking. Teachers, well magical teachers, are as useless concerning many matters as she is with a wand. Which means she cannot rely on them. That's acceptable, as she is Susan Pevensie, she can find another way.

 

 

    Obviously, storming inside the (almost) empty classroom in the evening is not a respectable choice. She does so anyway, fingers pressed against Peter' shoulder to ensure he will not run away. She knows him enough to be convinced he won't, but some extra precaution doesn't hurt. Oh, that must be why they call her bossy—that's a compliment, she decides.

 

“Azel, I'm requesting your assistance.”

 

Beer in one hand, pen in the other, they were obviously trying to correct tests. Hm, for someone who has only three students, they sure take their time with that. That's fine, she sighs to herself, starting to offer whatever feels right. There are details she refuses to explain, letting Peter to do it instead. She expected Azel to chase them, although they do not. Instead, they ask to see a sample of Peter's writing.

 

“I do a lot better when I'm not tired, I swear.”

 

“Boy, just write something for me, anything really.”

 

And they wait, Susan feeling sheepish at the way she dragged her older sibling there, without truly asking (or caring) for his opinion. As she sits next to Tsukuda, she notices they marked their papers with the Japanese Muggle system _again_. Once she taps the corner of the paper, they groan.

 

“I'm gonna add the magical grading underneath, this way you have both. Isn't it brilliant?” They claim to have meant to do this from the start, which Susan pretend to believe. Sometimes, it's easier.

 

The teenager doesn't like to have her mistakes pointed out either.

 

“I'm done.”

 

“Come here, let me see.”

 

Azel's visible eye scans the paper a couple of times. Obviously, they aren't sure of the diagnostic, which is kind of what Susan expected. After all, they are no doctor at all. And a beginner teacher.

 

“I suppose,” they eventually say, fingers gliding through their own hair, “that you have magical quills which correct your most common mistakes during exams around there?”

 

When Peter nods, Azel seems upset.

 

“That's why your teachers haven't noticed anything. They probably attribute the ones you make with your homework to inattention. I'm gonna have to ask someone though. The nurse or I don't know who. Someone capable of telling that shit. Whatever the result is, it's not your fault. I'm kinda disappointed no one realized that though.”

 

Susan shouldn't let guilt invade her mind. She does anyway, perhaps out of tiredness. Patting Peter's arm she walks him back to his dormitory. It's only in front of the door that she dares to go for a quick hug.

 

“It's better when no one can see us. I have a reputation,” she mumbles.

 

Immediately there is a smile on his lips, something faint yet genuine.

 

“I should call you my beloved sister during breakfast, then.”

 

Getting punched in the arm is a fate he deserved, she tells herself once back into her common room. Gentle doesn't mean harmless.

 

 

     Peter has brand new supplies, adapted to his reading and writing problem. It has a name the school hasn't told her. Although he knows what his disability is, thanks to the school nurse knowing about these things, and once he feels comfortable enough to come forward to her with its name, she'll welcome him. For now, she will help him to proofread his essays and school reports. He asked, and she feels honored by such trust.

 

Most siblings fight. Oh, they sure do. Although it's different. As if they had already been through a whole century or arguments. Not that they are soft either. She has taken on the habit to imitate him, grabbing swords off armors when he becomes aggravating. More than once, they duel, climbing on the Great Hall tables, running after each other when no one was present. That's so exhilarating, to evacuate some of the pressure, to be herself. Never again will she be send away from the battle before it even starts.

 

She is graceful and admirable, as she dodges the tip of the old sword, coming so close to her throat. There is danger, although it's only practice. Where is the risk, would she like to ask when they are caught more than once, is it equivalent to being caught out of guard without knowing how to swing a sword by an enemy? She does not own a wand, thus she has to compensate. Poisons and swords. Ah, archery would be so pleasant too. A shame she isn't allowed to have a bow around.

 

(Technically, a sword isn't safer, it's merely that she can find one with ease around the school.)

 

 

     Power comes to her in the middle of class, when her potion is, once more, praised. Teacher's pet they say. How wrong, if anything Susan is too brilliant for what he is willing to teach her. Take it slow he warns. If she had wings, she would burn them to get a closer look at the sun. Is there a problem with that? Of course not.

 

She intensifies her practice, dragging an old cauldron into the classroom reserved for the Squibs. Opaline and Garfield are her favorite students. She plays the teacher, guiding them as they almost chop a finger off or add ingredients in the wrong order. That's a mutual exchange, a way for her to feel validated, and for them to improve. Once they are gone, she pours her energy into what's forbidden, Azel glancing at her from their desk from time to time.

 

One evening, as she is almost done, her hubris takes her by surprise. What if she combined two of her creations? The cauldron is still bubbling, it sounds perfect. She only has to empty a vial of her latest poison right into the mix.

 

“That sounds perfect.”

 

“Do not,” her teacher warns, without even lifting their head from the papers they are grading.

 

She isn't listening, hasn't been in a while. There is an urge, something stronger than her will. It's brutal and demanding, and she wants nothing more than letting it win. Who is stopping Susan in this lifetime? Lions who do not approve of the way she paints her lips? Suitors with a dying wish as they threaten her to get what they want?

 

She is free.

 

The world goes colorful at once, immediately replaced by dark points dancing in front of her vision. It takes him a while to register that she is sitting on the floor, cauldron and contents on the floor. A hand grabs the back of her shirt, getting her up in a swift move. She blinks, struggling to focus as she realizes a minor explosion must have occurred. Had her head been right above—

 

It was?

 

Titling her head back, she notices that the eye patch is gone. She has seen it once, during what felt like her trial, when Azel explained their story. Their mother was so adamant a Squib couldn't also be a Seer (honestly they were the first case _ever_ for what they know, so she can understand such surprise) that she flew a spell right in their eyes, to try to open their vision and their powers. Azel joked about the result and the whole eye turned black, iris barely visible. They haven't lost their eyesight, and it did increase their sensory vision, or whatever they called it back then. A shame it's simply not acceptable to show the result of what's basically abuse to the world. That's all it can be called, they told the people in charge of their fate, knuckles turning white around the eye patch in their hand.

 

“You knew?”

 

“I suspected it, my powers went ballistic as you started this potion. When I took the eye patch off, the vial was glittering in such vibrant colors I guessed it was going to be trouble.”

 

“I thought—for a second, I was immortal. Oh Azel, my apologies.”

 

What if someone had gotten hurt? She isn't even certain of what should be used to wipe the floor without ruining it. The poison could certainly hurt someone if touched directly.

 

“Students have to learn, we can clean this mess. However, if you had hurt yourself, I'm—a Seer not a medic. You can't count on me to do much in case of disaster. Usually I'm already far.”

 

If she were less troubled why what happened, she would press the matter. It sounded a little too akin to a confession about running away. Wiping tears away from her eyes, Susan remembers she's only thirteen, in this lifetime (the only one she remembers have been through) and she feels awfully young.

 

By the time they are done, after borrowing a lot of supplies from the janitor, she glances at the stains on her skirt which certainly won't go away even once washed. There is sadness in the air, regrets to be more precise.

 

“I thought that I could—beat them all. The Ravenclaw Squib, a future Potions Master, can you imagine?” She feels pathetic, sobs building in her throat as she is glad her classmates are already gone. Susan's the older sister, the one who protects them. That's why she shouldn't lose control like this. Shouldn't forget who she is.

 

“Here.”

 

She blinks, realizing they have handed her a can of—lemonade? Oh they must have gotten it in a Muggle shop over the week-end. She opens it with shaky fingers, ingesting most of the liquid in one go.

 

“I loved my powers when I was your age, obviously the Seer side. For the rest I was completely useless, couldn't even ride a broom without falling,” Azel offers a tired smile, putting their eye patch back on before sitting on a desk, “I abused them, spied on my classmates to learn secrets. I thought I was at the top, until I fucked up as you can guess.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I discovered a very nasty truth about someone I knew. That sounds like a minor problem, but I was plagued by nightmares about it for years, because I further fucked by accidentally linking myself to her emotions for a while. It's a side-effect of Seer stuff in my family. Like you get obsessed with someone, starting to see shit about them. I told my mother, she broke the link, and yet I'm still thinking about it all the damn time.”

 

“Lesson well-learned…”

 

They bark a laugh, shaking their head.

 

“I'd rather not teach you like this. I could have let you burn or poison yourself, with the slight threat of being expelled of course. What would have been the point though? For you to loathe yourself and your mistake for your whole life? Fuck off, that's not how we work in the class for fantastic Squibs.”

 

The lemonade is slightly too warm, not that she wants to complain. Instead, she tries to think about a great way to tell Peter about this. Not that she wishes to. If he could listen though—Susan might need to write to their siblings for support too. Suddenly, she needs some.

 

 

     Over Spring break, Susan invites Garfield over, disgusted by the way his sister and parents are treating him. He blends in oddly well, although he is the sole Pevensie with ginger hair. An honorary member of their family, she explains while they bake brownies together. There are so many lessons to review, and she isn't in the mood. While she doesn't have a problem with potions because of the accident, she remains wary of herself to some extend. That's why she's going to take things slow, this time around. No need to have one hundred poisons around all the time.

 

“I can't wait to join you at Hogwarts,” Lucy laments, before focusing on putting as many brownies in her mouth as she can.

 

“A shame you aren't a Squib, Lu', we're having a great time in our class.”

 

“I just want to pet the giant squid and visit the forbidden forest,” she mumbles, lips covered in chocolate.

 

“Noble goals,” Edmund comments, stealing a brownie as he winks at Garfield, “but it's my turn next year.”

 

“Not fair!”

 

Garfield laughs by her side, and she is so glad he feels safe somewhere, even if it's only for a short time. Oh, Opaline should definitely join them for a while in July. This way, they could hang in this decayed place together. That sounds like a great plan, she decides.

 

Peter will certainly approve, and they can put a tent on the roof during the hottest nights, camping together and having fun!

 

“What if we melted marshmallows on the brownies?”

 

Susan finds herself in awe at her baby sister's genius.

 

“That's a fantastic idea, quick Gar' let's go to the shop!”

 

She grabs their hands, dragging her family down the stairs without remembering her wallet. It's fine, she's allowed to make mistakes too.


	3. Edmund

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey~ Thanks for your kudos&comments, I'm in the process of replying to them, but in the meantime enjoy this new chapter~  
> I admit I'm very hesitant on Lucy's house right now...

     “I'm a witch,” says the boy, palm pressed against his cheek, obviously bored, “I cannot fathom why you have misinterpreted witches as women and wizards as men, although that's quite unfortunate.”

 

Which is a polite way to call them imbeciles, for Edmund. It's the third accident since he started school four days ago, and he wonders how these people can be so—backward with almost everything. Oh well, there is time to fix this, he supposes. Slytherin is a comfortable home, albeit hidden where no one can witness what happened to the once glorious house. Stereotypes are hard to dispel. As for traitors—there is a hint of frost underneath his fingertips. He watches, boredom invading his senses, as his fingers run against the desk until he is tracing a nonsensical pattern.

 

In the school of magic, Edmund isn't certain to find what he has been looking for. Antagonizing professors cannot be a hobby, after all. He keeps on getting frustrated at them endlessly nonetheless. For their inability to comprehend he isn't like them and will never be, Ed has no intention to pay a price.

 

“Could you at least take out your wand, Pevensie?”

 

Oh, that.

 

“Don't have one.”

 

 

      Much to his dismay, Peter still holds the shortest time between his arrival and his first visit to the headmistress. Only the valiant Lucy can beat him now. He is offered tea, which is delightful, thank you very much. And familiar treats which almost make him laugh. Irony has always been a faithful companion, he notes fondly while shaking his head at what once felt like poison. His smile might be too strained for someone meant to be twelve, not that he truly cares.

 

It would be foolish not to expect the woman to be aware they aren't exactly average by that point. The beverage is burning against his lips, and he blows on it gently. Enough for snow crystals to fall on the surface. Ignoring how she is certainly observing him, Edmund awaits for his punishment. Or whatever is meant to occur.

 

“I could claim to be severely disappointed in you for omitting to buy your wand, although would it be remotely useful? Between your brother, whomst spent months sticking to his stubborn belief he would remain without a house, or your sister, whose presence here is unbelievable, I had quite low expectations.”

 

There is amusement, yes, Edmund is able to tell these things, when the enemy is more of an ally in disguise. She has to play a role, to rule over her kingdom, enforcing rules she bends at her will to favor the ones who deserve to be saved. She must have been a raging commander on the battlefield, sparing no one from her wrath as her comrades fell.

 

“Witches are ancient, born from another world. Wands were commonplace back then, or were they? Perhaps. Not everyone ought to use one though,” he waves his free hand in the air, tracing frozen patterns which are quick to vanish. “I am another kind of special, certainly not a wizard, bound to an object. See, magic was born within me before my siblings even learned about it. Oh, dear Lucy, of course, always suspected she would be extraordinary, which I can't fault her for.” The scar has stopped aching long ago. Now it's a memory on his side, one which has the tendency to carry more weight that it should. While Narnia is a dream, child's play gone slightly wrong, meeting the White Witch isn't. He conserves a precise picture of each of their encounter.

 

Edmund has even grown to call her Mother, in a _biological sense_ when related to his magic. She blessed him, and what a gift! Something he couldn't have cared less for. Oh, her dreams where laced with power and control. Whereas Edmund merely wants to trample on her legacy while having an excellent time. It's not as if they remembered their human parents anyway, outside of names in old newspapers and on a couple of graves. Memories are a fickle thing, often vanishing when they become inconvenient.

 

“Do not worry, I will not end up as—something uncontrollable. My magic is merely related to ice and snow. Outside of this, I am unable to use what you call spells for now. It does not matter to me, as I will learn.”

 

Once she has regained her composure, obviously unused to first years pulling such stunts, McGonadall sighs. It's a tired sound, as she stares at the contents of her teacup for a long time.

 

“The road will be much longer for you than your classmates, if you decide to follow such path.”

 

“I couldn't use a wand,” Edmund admits. He has toyed with the idea, briefly, “my power freezes the wood from the inside, shattering it as it's not meant to hold my kind of magic.”

 

A polite smile is an excellent way to convey his emotions, isn't it?

 

“May I ask where you got a hold of such—power, Pevensie?”

 

“Oh, my mother, only _mine,_ wished to offer me a farewell gift, I suppose. An improved heir, picked at the last second, because of a shortage of candidates.”

 

She might still exist, he'd like to add, lurking on another place of existence. Stuck there until she repents—which means there is no opportunity for them to meet ever again. Isn't it tragic? Certainly.

He sips his tea, taking time to taste the flavor against his tongue.

 

Susan has mixed jasmine before, with one of her poisons and other ingredients. Edmund wonders how it must have tasted to her victims. Ah, delicious for sure. His sister has never been caught—back in another life. In this one, there aren't many people to murder. For now.

 

“There isn't much to add, isn't it? Our arrival here was written in the stars, somewhere neither of us can reach, therefore, we should work together as well as we can. My siblings and I aren't quite what you expect students to be, not that I have a reason to apologize about it.”

 

She raises her eyebrows, proving limits remain as tight as they have always been. Oh, Edmund isn't one to take offense at adults misunderstanding who he is. Putting the cup back on the desk, he rises to his feet, assuming the conversation to be over.

 

“Pevensie.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Be mindful of your classmates and yourself.”

 

“I will, professor.”

 

 

     He hears of the commotion once back in the common room. Something about his siblings and sword fighting. Which is disappointing, as they could have invited him. He avoids the curious glances of his classmates, retreating to the room belonging to first years. The trunk at the end of his bed is covered in runes already, an excellent barrier against anyone wanting to pry into his life. At the bottom, hidden under a blanket, Edmund finds his books. Novels he brought with him without minding their weight. Nothing magical, although he has been smitten with King Arthur' story a couple of years prior.

 

There is much to study in the castle. Albeit not anything interesting during classes. He is more interested in how Susan has to put magic powder on the tip of her fingers to mimic a wand when finishing her potions, something she is going to teach him, he guesses. That's deplorable, to learn there are countless means for Squibs to practice some magic, only for them to be ignored in favor of old and boring rules. Edmund reads in silence, getting lost in the pages until nothing else exists.

 

 

     After showing a complete disinterest in flying class, he uses a free period to wander around. Of course, riding a broom is certainly fantastic for children who want to break several bones at all. Edmund would rather ride a creature, someone he can trust, instead of—a broom. That's too much to ask from him. It would be quite good to join the headmistress in her office for a cup of tea once more, although it would mean causing trouble. Which he isn't in the mood for. He practices by himself, sitting in a hallway, ice dancing around him. It would grand to explore the castle to obtain its secrets, although he is not quite in the mood. He is going to be stuck there for seven years, therefore he should be patient and organized.

 

He can trace his own maps, adding to them year after another until he turns into some kind of expert. Edmund is the kind of person who needs ways to ease boredom, mind too sharp at the edges.

 

Footsteps interrupt his reverie, a guest promising at least a conversation. Is he motivated for one? Perhaps.

 

There is something fascinating about Susan's teacher. A hint of magic buried so deep inside their body they might not be aware of its existence. They're a Squib, certainly not a wizard.

Edmund would be willing to bet all their meager savings that the person is a _witch_ though.

 

He sits up, straightening his back and crossing legs as ice remains on the wall behind him, frost forming an odd halo filled with thorns. The smile he offers is polite at best, insolent at worst. Edmund had his share of people misinterpreting his emotions until now.

 

“Hello, would you like to sit with me?”

 

“Yo, Susan's baby brother.”

 

What a title. Less glorious than what Edmund got during his extended life, although he has to admit he is fond of this one. Sure, he has little to do with an infant, outside of their firm belief of being always right. A Pevensie problem, he'd say. Nonetheless, being referred to as Susan's beloved family is far from insulting.

 

“I'm Edmund, the witch.”

 

“I've heard about it.”

 

Once the tall asparagus has finished tangling their legs on their floor, Edmund allows himself to continue his training. Mother dearest would be horrified by his lack of progress in that department. It's not as if unleashing an endless winter on the country would get him the affection of his teachers.

 

“You're an odd bunch, I like that.”

 

“You seem like the type to appreciate problems and nonsensical people indeed.”

 

Their laughter is loud, albeit warm, as they tilt their head back against the wall. Edmund enjoys knowing as much as possible about everyone, enough to be aware the professor is a Seer. It would be quite something to ask for a reading. He doubts anyone could understand the weight the four siblings have to carry with them though. It's better to keep most of the mystery to themselves.

 

“Have you met the giant squid? We call him Terry.”

 

“Terry? Doesn't sound like a very squid-name.”

 

“Hm, I think we could have done better, true. There is an impressive glass window in our common room, sometimes he lurks too close, blocking the view. That's when we all say 'Terry' at once in the most exasperated tone we can muster.”

 

Edmund loves countless little things about his house, from card games they play late in the evening to learning sign language from merpeople so they can get insulted for forgetting to turn off the lights before going to bed. Details turn Slytherin into a refuge for children, rather than a place where demons are made. He is protective of the green and silver kids, especially against teachers who believe them to be pests.

 

The headmistress has done an acceptable, yet far from sufficient, job at ensuring this wouldn't happen as often as it to, at least. He should visit her again, if this ever become a problem once more. Chatting with someone capable of holding the world between her palms—ah he has faced countless opponents of such nature, and a couple of friends too.

 

“And can you like… Pet it?”

 

“I suppose, if you bring bread and a death wish, this could be done.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Would you like to make an attempt now?”

 

After all, it's not every day a teacher is suggesting to break the rules. Impossible to allow Susan's teacher to get molested by Terry, thus he ought to accompany them. If only for their safety. In spite of mentioning 'a death wish' there is no chance the creature would murder a resident of Hogwarts. After all, it has been around for a long time, enduring the tiresome presence of all these weird wizards.

 

Back on his feet, Edmund offers a hand to Tsukuda, as a proof of his sincerity.

 

“Sure, better than grading tests.”

 

“Oh yes, you're the one who's struggling when he has to correct three papers in the same day, how terrible.”

 

“The life of the teacher is filled with dread and cruel tasks.”

 

“I can only imagine.”

 

Was he one, once? Edmund doubts it. He does feel like a scholar nowadays, unlike the strategist he used to be in another life.

 

 

      They return soaked hours later, pockets filled with breadcrumbs and Azel babbling enthusiastically about a future class project involving meeting Terry.

Edmund is relieved he is unable to truly feel cold air against his skin any longer, as he is fairly certain the water was not warm enough for witches to fall in.

 

 

      Hogwarts bears the wrong kind of magic, the kind infiltrating your clothes akin to humidity after a long day of rain. Edmund has never pretended to fit in, anyway. He is behind and ahead at once, unable to cast basic spells yet wise far beyond his years, willing to verbally duel anyone interesting enough. He enjoys the hint of innocence he is allowed to hold close this time around, harmless pranks and mindless choices beckoning warmth inside his chest from time to time. He exists to be an in-between, someone unable to truly belong on any plane of existence. In the same way Susan is a Squib and Peter couldn't care less about adults as long as he gets his own justice.

 

Popularity comes by akin to an old aunt, pinching his cheeks and giving him praise before vanishing the next morning. Edmund doesn't mind much, at ease when he isn't pushed at the front by whatever the school seems to force on him. He is surrounded by acquaintances, few of them able to be his friends, waving at them or merely stopping for a short talk before vanishing somewhere else.

 

“I'd like to visit the forest tonight,” he confides to Terry, sitting on the edge of the lake, feet dangling in the water. It's fine, he is immune to sickness, “do they trap what they cannot understand there? Or is it merely a sanctuary for what shouldn't be seen?”

 

The squid doesn't bother replying, barely using a tentacle to send water right into his face. He chuckles, shoulders shaking, lifting a hand to coat the closest part of the lake with frost.

 

No one else would dare to wander outside in such weather, he wrongly believes, right before a palm presses against the small of his back.

 

“Ed.”

 

_Why are you_ _r_ _feet in the water_ , he expects an exasperated voice to add, as his sister has little patience for some of his antics.

 

His smile turns unsteady, years weighting at once on the corners of his mouth. Without thinking, Edmund leans against Susan as soon as she is by his side, legs tucked under her body. It's not comfortable for anyone, when he comes close. Cold licks his face, lips having to be painted with more and more color as years go by, weather becoming something he doesn't have to care about. He doesn't ought to get dressed warmly in Winter, able to lift his pants and put his legs in the lake without a second thought.

 

Edmund is Jadis' son, numb to his own body meant to be a tool in his rise to the throne. Except there is no one he wishes to freeze for eternity right now. Thus, he endures the presence inside his heart, having learned to deal with it a century ago.

 

“Terry and I were having a conversation.”

 

“I can tell,” she brushes wet locks away from his eyes, her lips in a thin line which means trouble.

 

She cares so strongly, pushing all her emotions together in a hurricane no one can stop. To think Aslan once forsake her—how foolish.

 

Don't get Edmund wrong, he has no intention to ever be saved from whatever he is becoming. If he is Jadis' amazing disaster, then he will go down this path to the fullest. The sheer joy he feels at imagining her rage at his wasted potential is enough to brighten any day.

 

“You are failing some of your classes. Should I go and unleash hell on them? I thought you could do it without my assistance.”

 

Here comes the teasing, sharp and accepting no wrong answer. How he loves his sister, when she challenges him in such way.

 

“My magic collides with the one they are trying to teach me. Lack of wand and all. Therefore, I shall—teach them about the wrongdoings. Not today though.”

 

“Today you'd rather talk with the squid.”

 

“Squid, squib, I guess I appreciate both.”

 

She snorts, an ugly sound which turns Ed' smile into something believable.

Instead of stepping inside the forbidden forest, he'd rather eat dinner with his siblings. They can move at the same table, for once. He misses them, no matter close they are. How odd.

 

“Don't do everything on your own,” she instructs, dragging him into a short embrace, “That's Peter's department.”

 

“I'll try, Su.”

 

 

     The headmistress endures his presence more than she appreciates it, he decides at her third sigh. He is offering his guidance, something quite worthy of her time. Practicing spells on animals or classmates, isn't it too brutal for children? Edmund understands magic equals danger, as his is born from a curse rather than love. It doesn't justify the dubious ethics of Hogwarts in any way. This school has a habit of causing mayhem, breaking students or even losing some, Peter has told him everything about that, reading about what happened to the less fortunate kids. Often, tragedy befell the ones considered 'impure' by their peers, which is certainly far from an excuse.

 

“Do wizards have no sense of self-preservation?”

 

“You cannot simply call yourself a witch and ignore that you are, too, considered as such.”

 

“Why not? I told you, I am not a wizard in the slightest, closer to Susan than to our other siblings. Traitors aren't always the ones who are wrong, you know?”

 

He tilts his head to the side, eager to hear her reply.

 

“What you aim to do is impossible—only someone insane would dip into what has been the foundations of Hogwarts from the start. You will stand against the whole ministry, perhaps the country in itself.”

 

“We already did, for Susan. And we will again. That's how it is. Ruling isn't of interest to me these days, although it's not enough to avoid doing the right thing under the pretense of childhood.”

 

Causing a ruckus is also tempting to Edmund and his siblings, as they run on bold choices and a constant disregard of consequences. He could even sit on the headmistress' desk if he was keen on leaving this world sooner than anticipated. The young Slytherin respects her, unlike what his attitude might suggest. Their little arguments are a battle of wits, nothing more.

 

“That's a risky behavior, you could even get arrested alongside your family for daring to step against our roots.”

 

“Only if we rush head first. There is much more enjoyment found in removing the bricks one after another before slamming the whole building down.”

 

This conversation occurred before, certainly with Peter. They have to—insist enough for their worries to be taken into consideration. He doubts McGonadall is as wicked as her predecessor, leading him to believe she will be an ally on the long run. They have to tug precariously at her sleeve from time to time, rather than being filled with greed and insolence. They were once kings and queens, that's for sure. A part of a child's game they have to carry on their shoulders until the end. In this lifetime though, Ed is fine with being an especially smart child and nothing more.

 

Heroes lie.

He wants to be fair.

 

“May I at least ask for a different grading system than my classmates, due to the nature of my powers?”

 

“It would only be fair. I have to concede I intended of having a discussion with your professors about this,” while her tone remains as strict as before, he catches a glimpse of softness hidden behind her glasses, “you are an exceptional boy, Pevensie. A troublemaker, much to my chagrin, difficult and prideful, yet so kind towards your siblings, gaze filled with wonder and clever schemes.”

 

“So, you admit appreciating me?”

 

“I believe you should head to your next class, rather than lingering around my office.”

 

As he steps towards the door, Edmund spins on his heels, hands crossed behind his back.

 

“I'd be honored to be invited again, you are my favorite professor after all.”

 

He is gone as fast as possible, pretending not to notice her faint smile. He would have loved to have her as his teacher in class, although the whole headmistress thing is certainly enough work for one individual.

 

 

     Edmund obtains a pet hedgehog, rescued from a student failing to turn it into a needle, during his exams. He cannot undo wonky spells himself, thus he steps into the headmistress' office holding what could as well be called an eldritch horror, asking for assistance. Obviously, he could have walked to the teacher in charge, had the woman not be busy with other matters. Fine, Edmund might not have checked where she was, fleeing the scene with his precious new found friend. Twenty minutes later, as he is holding a distressed, yet fully animal-looking, hedgehog, Edmund hears he somehow passed this class while additional points for 'quick thinking'.

 

He is keen on believing his professor saw an opportunity to avoid dealing with him, opting to increase his grade being more convenient than making a special practical test only for him.

 

Will the tiny thing want to stay by his side? Most animals do not appreciate his cold hands, which is understandable. Once it has calmed down, the hedgehog appears to nest on his lap, unwilling to be returned to the classroom and terrible children practicing on it. That's fine, Ed is already getting attached.

 

Plans for Summer now include reaching everything about caring for what is definitely not on the list of acceptable pets in Hogwarts. A shame he isn't truly one to follow the rules. He is eager to introduce his buddy to Lucy, if only to watch her eyes light up with glee at the prospect of getting a companion of such nature for herself.

 

Ah, knowing his dear younger sister, she will befriend a dragon while they are not looking. Not that there is anything wrong with that, outside of the size of the beast in comparison to their flat. As he is still sitting in front of the office, comfortable on the stairs, he is joined by the other two, probably free from their own exams for the day.

 

“How do you always get into such situations?”

 

“A terrible timing and an incredible need to do whatever I want. Qualities you both possess.”

 

He eagerly lifts the hedgehog, with both hands, to introduce it to his siblings. Later, he'll have to decide of a name, and how far the animal will be allowed to roam into the flat, as cages as definitely not something Edmund believes in.

 

Being trapped causes people to turn mean, in the same way no one wants to be away from home, having been forgotten. He wonders what Jadis would think about rescued animals and gentle hands. Certainly nothing worthy of his attention. He is not the Ice prince right now, only a happy Slytherin child.


	4. Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It took me forever to write this chapter but here we go. I had a blast writing Lucy, honestly. Also I had no idea of which house she would belong to, and in typical Lucy fashion she offered quite a creative way to solve this problem.  
> I'm grateful for all the people who posted a comment or left kudos, thank you.

     Nonsense has always been common place as Hogwarts. A school of magic can only foster miracles and tragedies—sometimes at once—the flow of energy pulsing through their veins dictating where they are headed. The headmistress allows fate to greet her like an old friend, albeit with a hint of annoyance as some things should be impossible. The train arrived earlier, castle coming back to life to cherish its new children, some returning, others new and clumsy, eyes wide at the promise of something extraordinary. They should be awaiting to be blessed, one after another, bouncing with energy. And yet—there is a little girl in her office, before the feast even has a chance to start. She smiles, muggle clothes hanging too loosely on her frame—assurance in her bones nonetheless as she awaits for an introduction. Laws can be twisted to fit one side or another, certainly not broken in such way. The password—Merlin she changed it this morning—should be enough to repel any intruder. None of this seems to concern the kid, chirping happily about the beauty of the place as she takes a seat—she seems to have understood her presence has caused quite of a shock—immediately pressing her elbows against the old desk.

 

“Hi, we meet again, headmistress.”

 

Countless words get pushed back in the woman's throat, Lucy is able to tell. That's fine, they have a lifetime to get acquainted, she isn't eager to rush things in this existence too. Politely, she tugs on her hood, revealing misaligned teeth and eyes filled with wonder. A bit of mischief too, as she fully intends on robbing her siblings from their pride of having been sent in the office as early as possible during their first year. The trick to an efficient fight, any narnian would tell you, is merely to show up uninvited into your enemy's home. Bringing tea and biscuits is always going to play in your favor. Although, in tedious cases, it's better to have basked the dough in poison first. No use for such method at Hogwarts! Schoolchildren need to be seen as beacons of innocence to ensure their imagination isn't taken away, the tiniest hint of mischief considered an insult to adulthood.

 

“Lucy Pevensie, how did you enter?”

 

She's a tiny thing, isn't she? Invisible when she wishes to be left alone—never been to school in this lifetime, too busy climbing fire escapes or putting pretty rocks or weeds into her pockets for later—and impossible to ignore once she is standing in the middle of a room.

 

“I guessed the password, sheer luck and nothing more, nothing less.”

 

McGonadall has no reason to believe her words, nor she is offered another answer. Defeat is easier to force onto someone when this unfortunate fool has already dealt with your siblings over the past years. Finally, after an eternity—she relents, allowing the newcomer to play with one of her quills, twirling it between her fingers.

 

“I do not encourage the futile competition which seems to be going on between your siblings and yourself, Pevensie. It is, nonetheless, a pleasure to have you with us.”

 

Oh, Lucy hopes she is already trying to guess what her specialty is. Peter is a magnificent historian, or at least he'll be in a couple of years, alongside a Potions Master found in Susan and, of course, Edmund and his abnormal magic. What about her? Lucy has no use for poorly prepared plans. She has dreamed of Hogwarts before, and she will again. In the same way lions and talking beavers sometimes invade her memories, heavy fog pushed away by a child's creativity.

 

“I have a letter for you, from someone important to my family. However, I ask you to wait before you open it. After all, I don't want to ruin a potential surprise, I'm not very good at keeping them to myself,” she grins, happiness taking over. It has been a century since she got to be around magic in such form. Of course, details are long gone, even the edges of the picture as a whole. She cherishes the remaining fragments, whereas the others have long picked them off their body, throwing them away. Edmund is, once more, slightly different, but Lucy wouldn't be pleased to have a shard of ice inside her at any given time. It would be inconvenient. She hands the letter with one hand, removing it from the front pocket of her hoodie.

“I do hope there isn't another Pevensie planning on joining this year.”

 

“No, don't worry! It's only the four of us, like at the start. That's how it should be, I think.”

 

She isn't completely sure that's the truth. Mourning and longing for old friends are one and the same, albeit completely different. At time, she struggles making sense of fading emotions. Thus, she awaits for the question, the one she expected before even getting on the train.

 

“Will each house get one of you?”

 

The lions, the proud children she once considered her own. Of course, the headmistress hopes for her to follow such path. Would it be a destiny Lucy could embrace? Where would be the fairness of it though?

 

“We go where we are needed, that's the secret of our existence. Gryffindor has been standing bravely for a long time, basked in glory and—as I have heard—a battlefield which lasted for years.”

 

_I am young and my heart is still aching from the one I stood in the midst of once, that's not my path any longer. It doesn't ought to be._

 

“Peace has been granted a long time ago now.”

 

“That's kind of a funny thing to say, when Susan and her kind didn't have rights until we stepped in. I'm not fond of skewed justice. I don't want to be part of a golden age of heroes and warriors either, only to be a kid. That's important too.”

 

She notices the tension, shoulders too high until the woman exhales slowly. She has seen her own share of awful things done in the name of peace, without a doubt.

 

“It is, young Pevensie. There is strength in enjoying one's existence rather than trying to reach for unattainable goals. Something tells me,” McGonadall abandons the letter, carefully sealed with wax, in a drawer of her desk, “that your family doesn't intend on allowing cruelty to go rampant, or for people to exclude anyone under rules you find rubbish. Which is a Gryffondor quality.”

 

“Houses are more than what they seem, I'm sure. Should we head to the feast now? It would be unfortunate for my siblings to worry about me.”

 

Or for the school to miss the one meant to deliver the opening speech. That too, Lucy guesses.

 

 

_I will step into the Forbidden forest, befriending the ones who wish for company. Then, I'll stand at the top of the highest tower, staring at the bottom without fear because I know how to call my broom. Herbology will be my favorite subject. Or perhaps astronomy later? I had these dreams over the past years. In some I'm wearing yellow, in others green or blue. Red, only once. Wasn't a bad one. Where should I go? I do fit all of them, don't I? Don't we all? It's splendid, how we change and grow up. Grow back, into bodies which were once quite different. So what's your verdict? Oh, I deeply apologize if I'm too talkative, I have a lot to say lately._

 

“Have you ever heard of Seers, child?”

 

“Oh yes, who hasn't? Susan's teacher is one. Hi Tsukuda!” She waves, having seen the adult over the holidays when they came home on evening to ask Susan for her opinion on the new curriculum. There is fondness in recalling how excited by their visit the three squibs were, even her usually composed sister. Opaline and Garfield have turned into family, adopted one after another, stuck into the mess that's the life of parent-less children without anyone to rule over them. They have sleepovers in a flat where they don't fit all together, eccentric professor pretending not to see any of it, yet making a visit to ensure they're fine from time to time.

 

“Could you focus on your house, miss?”

 

“Oh yes, of course Mr Hat. Please, go forth with my sorting. Avoid Gryffindor and Slytherin though. One would bring back unpleasant memories, the second would upset Edmund. My dear brother needs to shine on his own, without my light invading his.”

 

She omits, on purpose, the Seer part. Is there any magic left, once one has all the answers? She has a hint of something more inside her, but then so do her siblings. When Peter started to learn incantations without using a wand, there was astonishment within his teachers. She laughs at how they started to praise his intelligence without understanding that it's more difficult to hold a sword and a wand at once and Peter has made his choice long ago.

 

“It's settled then. You belong in _Ravenclaw_!”

 

After thanking the hat for this choice, Lucy leisurely walk towards her sister, falling into her arms in an exaggerated manner until Susan is shaming her—while pretending to be annoyed—with her lack of manners.

 

“I was in the headmistress' office earlier, Su'. I figured it was the easiest way to get there before any of you.”

 

“I should have thought of that,” Edmund laments, suddenly sitting on her side after gesturing for whoever was there to move aside. Peter is close to follow and all four of them are reunited once more, as it should be.

 

“I'm a witty child, what can I say?”

 

She doesn't mind how Edmund tries to press his arm over her head, pushing him with laughter bubbling in her throat.

 

 

     She's fierce, boots covered in mud which is going to stick on even with the strongest spell to clean them, as she climbs and runs. She dreams at night, of myths and what-cannot-be-but-once-was, lack of tears on her cheeks in the morning. When life spread through her bones once more, linking them together, she felt akin to an oddity, strings keeping her whole yet always on the verge of snapping. Now, she's fine—she whispers to herself when she isn't certain, about playing pretend or forgetting—once again a blur of colors as she is Ravenclaw and the three other houses at once. Oh, she tried to avoid lions and golden crowns—then a little girl burst into tears in front of her, repeating 'I'm too afraid, I don't want to ride a broom' and she was wearing a golden trinket at her waist to give her the courage she lacked, red ribbon in her hair. Lucy remembered another child, one who needed guidance, a little mean—bit of a bully with edges too sharp—and someone to take their hand. So, gently—with all her kindness—she told the girl 'it's fine, you can ride behind me'.

 

First years are incompetent, baby ducks unable to find the pond on their own. Some ducklings are queens though, or they were. Lucy waited until arms wrapped around her waist and she reached as high as she could, wondering why griffons appeared into her mind, why her hands were suddenly too heavy against wood.

 

The girl didn't magically cease to be afraid, so each time she rides with Lucy. That's better, Lucy tells teachers, holding Harriet's hand, keeping her close. She starts to talk to people, to sit wherever she wishes to until they understand she belongs to the school as a whole. There is strength in unity, in pursuing what her siblings have started. She exchanges her blue tie with someone's green, aware of magic and how the colors will switch back no matter what.

 

“Susan, your fingers are more skilled than mine, could you sew something for me?”

 

“I do recall you to be the most talented of us as putting things back together,” her sister replies, accepting the project nonetheless. She has a frown bad enough to leave a line between her eyebrows, when the fog dissipates for one second. Susan loathes remembering, which is understandable. Once, on battlefields, Lucy had to use thread and needles for dire work, to ensure that as many as possible would return home. Her cordial couldn't run out. It ended up misplaced forever, sadly. The child doesn't recall any of this, only that her fingers used to be red, color refusing to leave from under her fingernails.

 

 

     Lucy Pevensie has the ugliest tie in her whole year, red, blue, green, and yellow stitched as one, on top of one another. Older students enchant it for her, to make sure each color is forced to remain. And, when she stands in front of the Slytherin's common room one evening, Caspian the hedgehog—felicity always striking her as she hears the name—in her hands, she is allowed to get in without trouble. She might be a Ravenclaw, playing with enigmas thrown at her each day, rushing forward towards mystery and entertainment; she's fine with being a Gryffindor, a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff too. That's so silly, to divide people and put them against each other under the pretense of healthy competition.

 

 

    No use for a nemesis, or even a simple rival, in this world. Lucy rejects hatred, pacifying people who don't appreciate her by talking to them or stepping back. Sometimes it's clenching her hand into a tight fist, making sure to hit where Peter taught her it would be the most efficient. She goes to him, rather than to the nurse, lamenting over having to write her homework and not being able to anymore, because the skin is swollen and painful. He has this stern expression she can melt with only a smile and a hug. It has been greatly missed, the sensation of belonging. They grew tense, unable to find their footing, until Hogwarts. Pretenders badly concealed behind loose masks. A family now.

 

She won't be naive ever again, which is a meager loss in comparison to everything she gained. Wizards brandish wands as if they were opinions, shouting spells without understanding them. Whereas Lucy punches, fair and square, telling them it's not always enough, to have magic. It's a responsibility you ought to decipher, to make yours.

 

“You're so brave,” Harriet laments her own weakness, shame burning her ears as she squeezes her hands together.

 

“I'm valiant, it's not quite the same. Do you know who is brave though?”

 

“Who?”

 

Bruised fingers push a couple of rebellious strands away from Harriet's face, admiring how she is fighting back tears, trying to hide of growing jealousy. That's fine, malicious thoughts can be pulled away akin to diseased roots, Lucy isn't worried about that.

 

“ _You._ You're my brave friend, I am so grateful for your presence, Harriet.”

 

“But—Lucy you're everything! You ride a broom so well, and you're cool and everyone admires you—it's not the same!”

 

Her voice dies abruptly, as a flow of sadness overcomes her friend. Many would claim there is nothing special about her companion. She's far from a brilliant student, often getting lost and crying each time things turn too complex to handle. For Lucy, however, managing to remain at the school, to wish to stay and show them how wrong they are, that's amazing. Obviously, there is little joy found in pushing too far, that's why she intends on making Harriet' stay at Hogwarts as fantastic as possible. She can't remove the strain classes are causing to the shy girl, thus they have to build something greater together.

 

“Will you go to the Forbidden Forest with me? My feet have been aching for dryads and giant spiders, for the possibility of an unfathomable bond with a creature, I could put ribbons on your boots, matching to the one in your hair, and you'd be so pretty and powerful at once.”

 

“Are you mad? The Forbidden Forest? We could be expelled, or murdered!”

 

Indignation is a proof of life, something Lucy can rejoice in. She stands up on the bed, aware she has no business being in the Gryffindor's bedroom in the first place, without caring at all.

 

“Aren't you dreading for an adventure? I know I am, I have always been.”

 

She jumps on the floor, twirling until she is dizzy, back against the wardrobe. There should be a trunk, less practical, had fate not decided to tug at her strings to make an unimportant point. Eyes closed, fingers tracing the patterns under her fingertips, she felt an urge to relent and crash down too, to allow tears to invade her gaze and steal what's left of innocence and childhood. It would be easy to spin around, throwing the wardrobe open only to find boring clothes and no escape.

 

Instead, Lucy presses her palms until the wood is imprinted against them, pushing as strongly as she can, forcing herself to abandon this possibility.

 

“Tonight,” she whispers, “let's go and make the world ours.”

 

 

    Harriet cries after they land, clenching the broom and refusing to let go of her makeshift weapon. It has rained, as it's common around there, leaving Lucy with even more mud than usual on her boots. There is light on her side, friend holding her wand between shaky fingers. How fantastic, she forgot hers. The thrill of finally being outside, of having a kingdom to explore, to understand. There is lot to lament about, as this is not a makeshift home, not another place where—ah her mind is struggling to focus on any of this. She lets go, memories flickering around her until she is focused on exploring with her buddy.

 

In another world, she wouldn't bother with boots, or any kind of shoes, running freely. In this one, after enduring the harshness of living in the city, she isn't as keen on such choice as before—when? She doesn't remember. Slithering between trees, she avoids being seen, followed by her loyal light.

 

The great discovery isn't anything special, only a horse which won't talk even if Lucy asks as politely as possible. It has the edges of a dragon, wings extending around it as protection, while it observes her back.

 

“Do you have a name? I'm Lucy. This is Harriet.” A horse, of rather its skeleton, flesh almost absent, barely sticking to the body. There is no pain, she thinks. Only doubt about these strangers invading its home. Two little girls, one fearful, one fearless—or almost.

 

(“ _Fear, child, is what may save your life. You should never cast it aside, or else you might lose your sense of danger._ _Of protection._ _”_

“ _If you say so, Aslan.”_ )

 

“It's a thestral, a terrible omen— _you doomed us_ —oh no, I want to go home.”

 

The voice hissing against her ear doesn't suffice to calm Lucy's beating heart. It's a fierce sound, going faster as she steps forward, a hand diving in her pocket for something sweet or tasty enough. It's a sinister encounter, or it would be if Lucy didn't feel joy at meeting—a thestral. What a stunning name.

 

“Only those who have encountered death can see them—for me it was my granny but you—”

 

_My whole family, myself. There was a train crash, it was horrendous, everything was mangled, bodies torn apart for us to reach Paradise. People called it painless, so quick we couldn't tell what was happening. We could—oh yes, we could._

“I'm not sure anymore. Do you think it'll enjoy chestnuts?”

 

“I have read they have a carni—they eat only meat.”

 

“Oh, that's not ideal.”

 

She abandons her pocket, stepping closer, bowing slightly. She sees others, at the edge of her gaze. Probably a herd. Before she's able to introduce herself once again, as she cannot help but voice her thoughts to creatures she encounters, a head lays on top of her. She nuzzles back, her body having a mind of its own. The lack of flesh is odd, bones running against her skin.

 

“Hello, you seem kind.”

 

“You can't pet a thestral,” ignoring the advice, she steps aside, allowing the creature to salute Harriet in a similar fashion. She notes, with great amusement, how her friend goes from spooked to merely confused by the contact within seconds.

 

For once, the one taking risks isn't Lucy, who simply observes as the other girl lifts a trembling hand to pet the creature. _Go on, you can do it._ She inhales sharply, running her fingers against the creature. Confidence suits her well, Lucy decides.

 

“Oh so we can't pet a thestral?”

 

“I only said that _you_ can't!”

 

They snicker, being mindful of their voice so they don't scare the creature off. After a moment, various compliments offered to the thestral, they take their leave, still shivering with excitement. Or perhaps because it's November and they are not wearing coats. Which is not their greatest move. Ah, how she longs for Edmund's powers on—very rare, almost never to be honest, she knows it's not pleasant for him—some days.

 

 

      They catch a cold together, having to waste days at the infirmary for something meager, giggling to each other when the nurse isn't listening. No one caught them, which is extraordinary in itself—although she got an earful for Peter and Susan, as she cannot keep her mouth shut for too long—and being sick for one week isn't too hard to bear.

 

“I think I'm ready to ride a brown by myself,” Harriet confides once they are back to their mundane lives, squeezing her hand.

 

“I've always believed in you.”

 

 

     Her body aches, readjusting itself. The nurse offers her a strained expression, mumbling about kids who don't realize they are growing up. Last time—this time—Lucy sits down in grass, pressing her palms against her eyelids until she sees galaxies, until the world is no more. No Narnia, no Hogwarts. In a way, she'd be fine without the remains of memories, too. It would be less of a burden, to turn out like Peter and Susan, who became bitter then healed by themselves, moving on. Her mind refuses such possibility, to completely sever ties with what was a fairytale. The kind where most pages got lost with time, horrendous events forgotten along history.

 

She sits her, unaware of what's under her feet, or where the world is headed, until there is a weight against her back. Cold and steady. She finds herself pressing back, finding comfort in the gesture—in her brother. In a way, Edmund, with the witch—Jadis, she always forgets, he isn't allowed to—imprinted into his skin.

 

“Do you miss them, do you you recall who they were?”

 

“ _Mother_ and Aslan? I do, I suppose. With distance—as if,”

 

“They were a dream inside of a dream,” a smile tugs at the corner of her lips, “and what are we, then? Where are we? Is this another kingdom? Oh—my heart tells me this was very much a silly game we played behind a house too silent for us. But I know, we know, what this kind of dream means.”

 

“You've always dreamed a lot, especially since we ended up in that flat. As for me, though, I'd say this is childhood. The real one, lacking wars and blood on either side.”

 

“My dreams are extraordinary. They show me where to find Caspian when he wanders too far, or what I'll do yet without offering all the answers. It's only a glimpse of hope. They told me Harriet would love thestrals as much as I do too.”

 

She turns around, beckoning Edmund to do the same, wrapping her arms around him. Right now it's what she craves; her brother, her family. A connection to who they were and who they are. He takes a moment to return the gesture, never having been at ease with embraces or contact as much as she is. Oh, Lucy takes no offense, releasing her sibling as soon as she shows signs of not being comfortable any longer.

 

Aslan is a distant name. One she doesn't want to pronounce out loud yet, although she keeps it inside her, alongside everything she is allowed to.

 

“If you do not appreciate Hogwarts, remember we can shape it as we want over the next years.”

 

“I'd like to abolish houses, I think it's a silly thing. Everyone should be able to find their home where they wish to.”

 

“Like you do, breaking rules.”

 

“I'm a Pevensie, I am too experienced in overthrowing unfair monarchy to relent.”

 

“So am I. You should ask Tsukuda about the Seer business, I'm sure it would be profitable to admit to someone that you're even more extraordinary than you seem to be.”

 

He traces patterns above her, a crown made of frost, vanishing before it can touch her hair. Is her talent that obvious? Edmund has always been observant, therefore she cannot fault him for guessing before everybody else. He's talented at keeping secrets anyway.

 

“Lucy the Valiant, the powerful first year, such a genius, a fantastic and stubborn mind,” he mocks her until she gets up, fulling intending on making him pay for such terrible crime.

 

“Oh, Edmund the Just, you shouldn't engage your younger sister into such jest, who knows how awful defeat would be for you?”

 

“Is this a challenge, dear sister?”

 

In the blink of an eye, they are running, chasing each other as if they were holding wooden swords again, training behind Cair Paravel with young children eager to learn how to use such weapon. It's kind of messed up, Lucy thinks while they run, how she was given a dagger, and Edmund a sword—she thinks it's a sword at least, she isn't certain of the length of the blade—so sharp they could kill people when they were so short and clumsy.

 

There wasn't much fairness in that.

Nor there is any when she pushes Edmund into the lake, because she knows there isn't any risk of him getting sick from it.

Ah, they do not have to be perfect kids. Only ones who can exist.

 

 

     Hufflepuff has plants in the common room, some creeping on the walls, finding their way between shelves, others lined up close to the windows, basking into the sun for hours. She has a fondness for living beings, for their growth and how they find a way to recover from the most terrible things. She listens to a girl, in Peter's year, as she narrates the tale of some succulents which only had one healthy leaf left, how she found them a new pot, only for this tiny leaf, and it grew back. Not always, in some cases, there was nothing to be done. It's a kind story nonetheless, one which pushes Lucy to adds cacti in the midst of stars and books in her common room—she is a Ravenclaw as well, perhaps a little more than she belongs to the other three. Some nights, when Susan cannot sleep, she paces around, often lounging on the couch, staring at the ceiling and the moving stars. Lucy dreams of these moments—less magical, more strained—often in advance, and she slips into the room in pajamas, offering marshmallows and other delights as she lays next to her.

 

“The stars were different once,” Susan whispers one day, while running a hand through Lucy's hair.

 

“Yes, they were.”

 

Things have changed.

They are fine.

 

 

     Each year, parents are invited to Hogwarts, muggles and wizards alike ('some of us are witches.' 'We know, Edmund.') for a grand meeting, to introduce this world to adults who might have no idea of what's happening behind these walls. The four children sit together, watching figures as they walk past the door, kids suddenly getting up to greet them one after another. Names are called until the bottom of the list is reached. Usually, they do not bother sitting there, as only the ones whose parents are coming are encouraged to. Lucy, magical and beloved, instructed them to do so, a glint of excitation in her body as she pushed them into the Great Hall. There is something merry in the air, as she awaits, eyes glued to the door.

 

At once, it resonates within her. It's in the air, the flow of magic shifted akin to a melody, twisted into something else, harder to hear. She stands up, unable to contain the energy inside her bones. If she stays very still, not even blinking, she can distinguish petals instead of candles, a forest growing around of them, table and benches turning into a campfire. Far away, a castle with a familiar name, surrounded by the sea and—

 

“Aslan.”

 

When was the last time she had the name on her tongue, accepting to let it out? Oh, they were so young back then. Was it Peter's first year? She isn't certain—she doesn't want to remember anything, as He walks in. The mask is akin to theirs, except it isn't glued as precisely. Long hair could be a mane, if she focused on it precisely. And the tall man who look like them and like no human at once is an odd sight, for her heart. It's heavy and disorienting. She's the first to step forward nonetheless, because she has always been, from the start.

 

“ _Aslan._ ”

 

The fondness is long gone, that's the thing. She doesn't adore him as she used to, faith misplaced alongside the pain she endured. He is still a part of something greater, of a concept she cherishes when she wishes to. Perhaps their bond cannot be nurtured back to life—they are plants with more complicated emotions, Edmund told her once, as she was weeping over a cacti—yet it still exists. A distant father they probably won't meet after this.

 

“My child, you have been well.”

 

He touches her shoulder, and for once second, she remembers and then forgets again.

She's the one who started this, who voiced her desire to go back rather than to remain where nothing wrong could ever happen. It had not truly been their choice, in the sense they had been pushed only on such path, Susan excluding herself faster than any of them could have predicted. And Lucy couldn't bear this, Edmund following right after. She held Peter's hands in hers, telling him 'what's a family if we are missing one of our own?' and he went with them. They had to go through it again, the crash, then another existence. All four of them.

 

“I suppose _Mother dearest_ won't bother visiting?” Edmund tries to keep his voice casual, although it's trembling slightly. She can tell.

 

“I'm afraid Jadis has to remain into another plane of existence until she learns of her mistakes.”

 

“Unfortunate, although I do believe that's deserved.”

 

“You can talk to her, if you desire to do so. Only you, my son.”

 

She watches as Aslan hands a mirror to his brother. Still his son, too. The mirror is not small enough to fit in a pocket. Magic isn't bounded to a place or another, it flows where it goes, Lucy realizes, thinking of thestrals and dryads. The reunion isn't exactly filled with kindness, nevertheless, all five of them sit together, Aslan asking about their existence as if he hadn't been watching over them. Susan avoids most of the questions, obviously struggling to keep her attention on their old friend for too long. That's a side-effect of forgetting, of not wishing to see the truth.

 

Lucy found an envelope on her bed, right before leaving for the train station that morning. So, that was what it meant. An invitation for a lion to pretend being human to sit by their side once more. As an equal, rather than something extraordinary. That's not enough to make up for mistakes, some erased, others still fresh, painted with ink against the skin.

 

The mirror shrieks—it catches her out of guard and Edmund has a displeased expression as he hears a litany of sentences no child could be subjected to. She admires how he awaits for Jad—she is already losing the name—to pause to interject.

 

“Mother, I do intend on wasting your gift with every fiber of my being. That's your punishment for creating something you did not desire out of greed,” he flips the mirror around when the voice gets so low that only he can hear, offering it back to the one who once was their guardian, “She's as kind and understandable as I remember.”

 

The joke is forced, and he leans against Susan for a moment, to recover from the accusations he got thrown at his face.

 

Peter is the one who has the longest conversation, asking questions back, inquiring to Aslan about what happened to the others, because there were more people, right? Even if he doesn't remember what they were like. Lucy struggles to see what's so wrong with lions until she catches a glimpse of Susan's clenched fists and Edmund's hand pressed against his side. Then it's _enough_. Lucy watches as Aslan introduces himself to the headmistress before walking away as if he had never been here in the first place. She doesn't run after him, even if her heart aches.

 

 

       “He won't be back,” she warns—oh she's explaining, it simply sounds like a warning for some reason—as they sit together under the trees later. Spring is here, wind gently running around blossoms trying to resist until they're about to open.

 

“Who?”

 

“There was a man, Su'—”

 

Her gaze lands on Edmund, who comes closer, whispering so no one else can listen. “You'll forget too, if you let go.”

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

_Maybe she won't._

 

They share a mischievous grin, foreheads touching right before they decide to annoy their siblings by reminding them of homework they have because they are so much older and wiser—that's fine to release the past into the wild, it's painful though. Lucy has always enjoyed to explore everything before making a choice. There is so much to see in this world, her world, after all.

 

“Shall we borrow swords and have a sparring session instead?” Peter suggests.

 

“That would be most welcome, I ache for something other than schoolwork.”

 

“I do love getting detention with my siblings, obviously.”

 

“Ed' you're saying that because you always lose!”

 

“These rusted swords are incredibly heavy, I am at a great disadvantage.”

 

“I've heard there is an old room no one can find in the dungeons,” Lucy offers, standing between her siblings, “it apparently holds great secrets. Should we look for that instead?”

 

An adventure never truly ends, as long as you don't run out of imagination.


End file.
